


Her Name Was Tilly

by TeeEye82



Category: Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Abuse, Fear-play, Gen, Gore, Graphic, Plus some added plot., Tentacles, Usual Slendy stuff., scientists - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-21
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 11:12:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2649965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeeEye82/pseuds/TeeEye82
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You carefully step over litter and rubble, glass and paper crunching under your shoes and the sound of water dripping not far off. Making your way across what seems to have once been an office, you shine your flashlight over a desk and spot a somewhat white piece of paper, pristine and undisturbed in comparison to the delapidation of the surroundings. On closer inspection, it appears to be a note of some kind, and you crane your head over its faded writing to see if you can make out anything interesting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Note From The Past

Imagine a... creature. One that is born from your nightmares. Brought to life through your fear.

A dark shadow over your window at night that you pass off as just being a tree branch in the moonlight. And yet you overlook the fact that there are no trees on that side of your house.

A sound like footsteps walking down that one hallway that always creeks, but when you turn the light on there is no one there. So you reason the old wood of your humble and safe abode was just shifting in the wind again. The lack of wind outside not important.

There in the treeline of your grandparent's property, a strange figure, tall and obscured. Maybe it's just your eyes playing tricks on you, or it's an old fence post that used to belong to the gates that kept cattle from roaming.

And sometimes, in the middle of the night, when you're just nodding off to sleep, the sensation of something stroking your hair might register. A soothing brush along the very surface of your senses. Barely noticeable or note worthy, as you let your eyes close and fall into what you might call a dreamless sleep.

Children had gone missing, nothing left behind except a happy looking doll given to the child on their last Christmas. Or a marine action figure, a gift from their father. Sometimes, articles of clothing were found where the young one was last seen. A sock, a hat, shoes, bracelets. If they had been playing dress up, entire costumes sometimes lay in a neat pile on the ground, in a chair, on a swingset, at the bottom of a slide, even in their bed.

The monster responsible for these kidnappings had never been found. But slowly, ever so slowly, people became aware. Aware that they weren't safe. Aware that their families weren't safe. Confessions, sightings, panicked phone calls to the police department, insane cases showing up more frequently, and, of course, hunters.

Whenever something scares us, something we don't understand and aren't sure we want to understand, we go into a split second, two option quiz. Fight or flight, and the first choice is usually flight. Fear compels one to get away, to hide, to save themselves. But when those we care about come into play, those we have always wanted to protect and keep happy and smiling, however little we consciously think about it, when they are threatened, we choose fight. Afraid or not.

And when there are enough fighting, banded together for the safety of their loved ones, we have found we can overcome almost anything. And this thing, while taking a long time to spread the paranoia, this thing was one we attacked ferociously.

It goes by many names, different terms used between the vast variety of regions the creature had been spotted, but the one we will use is Slenderman.

Slenderman. A tall, tentacled, scrawny beast with no eyes, no face, who preys mostly on children, though adults are not exempt from its targets.

To someone uneducated in this topic, the introduction might not hold any significant meaning. Might not have any impact on reasons why the person should care. Monsters are only in fairy tales and video games, after all.

But to someone who knows the horror. 

To someone who has suffered alongside other victims, it is a name that will forever haunt them. Until the day they die.

And while we couldn't do anything to help those unfortunate souls, already scarred and delusional beyond repair, we could prevent others from succumbing to the same fate. Because we had finally accomplished what was once thought to be impossible. Had finally achieved our goal, one sprung with no belief we would be victorious.

We had finally captured Slenderman.

I, myself, am not sure how it happened. Being part of an organization that calls themselves the Hitchhikers, a group sworn to end the madness that has plagued humanity for so long, one would think I would have been filled in on the how's and when's of the event. Especially one as large and spectacular as this one. But no. That wasn't the case. Instead, I got a frantic call from our boss, a panicked and almost incomprehensible string of orders and commands streaming through the communication's device in hand. What it all came down to was that we had done it. After so long of searching and studying, we had really done it.

And we were to keep it a secret.

Release to the public of our success would get the government involved, and they would take our prize from in between our fingers and cart it off, never to be seen or heard from again. And Dave wouldn't have that, oh no, he wouldn't have that at all. 

He wanted revenge.

So we put the Slenderman in a chamber underground, chained and apprehended, never to disturb the new peace above again. Suddenly, we were no longer hunters, but scientists. Oh, the things we would learn from this creature. The new mysteries that we would uncover. We could crack the monster open and study everything about it, spreading the knowledge revealed in case anything like this ever happened again.

However, if you hadn't guessed already just from reading this, from finding this log, that is not what happened.

A monster in a cage is still a monster, still a hazard, still just as volatile and dangerous as if it were free. If not more so. We forgot this important detail. We let our guard down. Got sloppy. Comfortable. Pretentious,  even. And eventually, low and behold, it got out. 

But more importantly? It got in. 

All thanks to a woman we called Tilly.


	2. Clip# 04 "Restraint Test"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once you have finished reading the page, and maybe glancing over a few more intriguing parts a couple times more, you pick up the paper and turn it about, recognising it is a torn piece from a notebook with the spiral binding edge carefully, though sloppily, pulled off. There may be more to the story, so you make a mental note to keep an eye out for the notebook this belongs to as you haphazardly fold and shove it into your pocket. The desk you stand before has drawers, and upon opening the first one you see you find a couple of old VHS video tapes, though one is beyond ruined. With its tape strung out like spaghetti and completely ripped out at one end. On the other side of the room, you remember, rests a TV and what may or may not have been a player. Gathering the one good tape, which is fadedly titled "Clip# 04 'Restraint Test'", and searching the other unlocked drawers for anything else (yielding only a couple of paper clips, a broken pen, and a stick of dry glue), you make your way to the TV and quickly assure that everything is hooked up and there is power. You note the lights would all be on if there were any left unbroken, and you shove in the first tape and turn on the instruments.

The screen flashes and jerks wildly for a moment, and then clears up to reveal a somewhat large white room. The ceiling is not visible in the camera. A form sits like a stone in the left visible corner. The furthest corner holds a door, beside it a series of observation windows, and the right corner is empty. Two shadows blur against the windows, and someone enters the room through the door. The form doesn’t move.

The screen twitches and fuzzes momentarily when the entrant speaks, distorting their words. One of the shadows moves, and the view is changed to somewhere behind the windows, observing the two who stand and watch.

“You’re sure it can’t get her, right?” Man on the right,

“Absolutely. Total encapsulation. The film is designed to constrict in the case of any sudden power surges. If it tries anything, it’ll lock up immediately.” Man on the left.

“How can you be so certain? This entire facility is practically theoretical. What if it breaks through?” Right man is nervous, frantic gestures of his hands and twitching of his neck says as much.

There is static, a blip, speech is lost. “But we have tested the room, and it won’t be getting out of there anytime soon.” Man on left is calm, convinced.

Right moves as if to grab left man, but something beyond the glass catches his attention.

The view changes to above the empty corner, watching both the window and door area as well as the form and woman. She kneels down and, with a gloved hand, carefully raises one of the many tendrils, touching to its tip a bit of something thin and shiny. The form becomes all motion, tentacles lifting and twirling and writhing as the being slowly stands, drawing itself to its full height. The head and shoulders are lost from the camera's view. The woman takes a cautious step back and brandishes a small black box of an object.

The view flickers to another camera, almost wildly, above the being's head, and static glazes over the image. The form stays still, but the tendrils sway and curl towards the woman, mimicking a curious gesture. The view cycles through the window room, where the right man is ranting and raving and pulling at his hair while the left man watches unaffected. The view blinks to the first corner again, the form having closed the space between itself and the woman, and blackness envelopes the scene. The camera bursts into static and then goes blank with the small bold word OFFLINE popping up before the view switches through the other three cameras with the same result. A high pitched scream is cut short on the last one.

The window room flashes on clear, showing the lights have gone red and the right man is pulling and banging desperately against the door. Giving up on this, he jerks towards the window and slams both fists in the glass. Dark red, almost black in the light, erupts across the inside surface and he flinches and cries out while taking a step back. There's another scream, muffled, hand prints press away the dark liquid and the scream dies down into a sob and a plea for help before all goes silent.

The right man falls to his knees, hands elevated and face wet with tears. The left man cups his hands around a cigarette on his lips and the sound of a striker breaks the silence. He breathes in, pulls the roll from his mouth, exhales, and stands there for a few more moments before pulling another from his pocket.

"Do you smoke?" His question is met by dull denial.

"Well, better late than never." He hands over the cigarette to the kneeling man, who robotically puts it to his lips, and lights it for him.

The rest of the video is of the two smoking together in solemn muteness, and almost ten minutes later the red light returns to white, followed by the eerie click of an automated lock unlocking. Neither move. The clip ends here.


End file.
